


The Mystery of the Hollywood Phantom

by vanillafluffy



Category: The Three Investigators | Die drei ??? - Various Authors, The Trixie Belden Mysteries - Julie Campbell Tatham & Kathryn Kenny
Genre: 1950s, Alternate Universe - 1950s, Alternate Universe - Hollywood, Case Fic, F/M, Gen, Golden Age Hollywood, Mystery, Mystery Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-03
Updated: 2020-08-03
Packaged: 2021-03-06 04:42:26
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,051
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25667644
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vanillafluffy/pseuds/vanillafluffy
Summary: When Mrs. Alfred Hitchcock catches sight of an ethereal horse in the Hollywood hills, she and her famous husband enlist the assistance of Jupiter Jones to discover whether the horse is real or a product of movie magic. Although it's far from his usual sort of case, he knows who to go to for help. Can he and Trixie mend their fences and solve the mystery?
Relationships: Trixie Belden/Jupiter Jones | Justus Jonas
Comments: 5
Kudos: 4
Collections: Bite Sized Bits of Fic from 2020





	The Mystery of the Hollywood Phantom

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Brumeier](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brumeier/gifts).



> Follow-up to "The Secret of the Singing Cowgirl".

The terrace offers a lovely view of the Hollywood hills at twilight. The woman standing at the wrought-iron balustrade never tires of it, especially on evenings like this when the moon is rising over Griffith Park Observatory.

Her gaze is drawn by movement, something among the brush near the famous sign. She stares at it for a moment, then hurries inside, calling for her husband.

“Alfie! What did you do with my opera glasses? I saw it again!”

As she sweeps into their sitting room, her spouse looks up from a script his famous profile outlined by the nearby reading lamp.

“Your phantom horse?” he inquires.

“Yes!” Her gaze sweeps the cheerful room. “What a nuisance, I just saw them yesterday!”

“Possibly in the cabinet, where they’re supposed to be? If they were sitting out, Marta probably put them away. She’s very efficient like that.”

Alma Hitchcock crosses to the bookcase that also has storage cupboards built in. With a triumphant cry, she seizes the case with the small pair of binoculars inlaid with mother-of-pearl and strides out of the room. 

Comfortable in his armchair, her husband continues studying the pages on his lap. When his wife had told him one night last week that she’s seen what looked like a glowing white horse in the hills, he’d been weary from a long day at the studio. He still isn’t sure why she’s making such a fuss. True, wild horses in the Hollywood hills is a bit of a stretch, if, in fact it was a horse at all. In this town, it’s entirely possibly that it’s some kind of publicity stunt.

“No joy?” he asks when she returns a while later, glumly. 

“It was gone when I got back.” She drops into the other armchair. “This time--this time, I’d swear someone was riding it.”

“I really don’t see what the big mystery is,” he says mildly. “You know how many oaters Hollywood cranks out. There are little ranches all over Southern California and thousands of horses. So, why are you so intrigued by this one?”

She sighs. “We’ve been in this house for nearly fifteen years, and I’ve never seen any horses up there before. And this was a particularly striking horse…heaven knows, I’m no equestrienne, but this one…it wasn’t just white, it glowed like a pearl!”

The director smiles, sure his guess was right. “Probably a movie effect--some kind of luminous paint.”

Alma sits bolt upright. “You know as well as I do, no one in their right mind would be filming at this hour. And there would’ve been lights and reflectors if they were--and there weren’t~”

“I suppose we’ll have to find your phantom horse to settle this,” Alfred Hitchcock pronounces gravely. “Fortunately, I know a private investigator who owes me a favor.”

*****

She’s spent all day in an orange grove, in the saddle of a flashy palomino. To be honest, both the saddle and the horse are flashy--the tack’s trim is gold-plated. Between the gold doodads, the golden horse and the girl’s lavishly embroidered costume, there’s definitely an impression of luxury. 

They’re surrounded by cameras and equipment. The girl on the horse trots up to a tree, reins in her horse and plucks an orange from the well-laden boughs.

“Oranges with all the goodness of California sunshine!” she enthuses, holding up the fruit for the camera.

“Beautiful! Okay, that’s a wrap. Good work, Trixie.”

Trixie Belden slides out of the saddle and hands the reins to a wrangler. She stretches--she’s been doing takes and retakes for hours, because the director doesn’t want to have to round everyone up again and spend another day shooting if they don’t have enough footage. 

She must have said that silly line thirty times, but, she reminds herself, the California Citrus Growers Association is paying her handsomely for it. 

Jupiter Jones has been lurking on the fringes of the crew; that Hawaiian shirt of his is hard to miss. Trixie waits, and after a long moment, he diffidently approaches her. 

“Hi, Trixie. Patsy said I’d find you here.”

 _Why were you looking?_ she wants to ask. They’d had a fling a few months ago, but he’d dropped off the face of the earth after the filming on _Desert Melody_ finished. So what’s he doing here, now? “What’s on your mind?”

“I need somebody who knows about horses, so of course, I thought of you.”

“How sweet of you to think of me,” she says coolly. “Excuse me, I have to give this outfit back to wardrobe.”

Although she’s the sole cast of this production, there’s a costume trailer, inhabited by a bored wardrobe mistress who’s stitching sequins on what looks like a pair of knickers. Trixie takes her sweet time changing back into her own comfortable jeans and shirt. She even takes the time to consume a Coke from Roseanne’s Styrofoam cooler, trying to order her thoughts.

She’d made it a point of being seen in the company of studio exec Jim Frayne after her fling with Jupiter had made the tabloids. Nothing serious there, but it makes sense to have somebody with clout in her corner. From Jupe's absence, she'd reckoned he didn't care about her one way or another. It was one of those things--there's nothing sadder than trying to hold on to something that's over, so she'd tucked those memories away...and here he is again. What does he want?

Finally, she goes back outside. One way or another, they’re going to have it out. She considers whether to just tell him to go take a flying leap or not. So far, all she’s heard is flattery. Flattery is sold alongside popcorn in Tinseltown--it’s cheap and not particularly filling.

“What horse?” she asks, because if it’s a case of a horse in trouble, sure, she’ll help. Doesn’t mean he’s going to get anything else out of her, though….

“That’s the big question,” he tells her as they walk toward the area where the vehicles are parked. “Someone who isn’t prone to daydreams or hallucinations saw a horse up in the hills near the ‘Hollywood’ sign. She described it as glowing like a pearl. Her husband thinks it’s a movie stunt. I’ve been asked to look into it to find out who’s right. But I don’t know anything horses, I might miss something…I was hoping you could help?”

Jupiter’s brown eyes meet hers, imploring her. Of course, he acted as a child, so he’s got the pleading expression down pat.

“A glowing white horse,” she repeats, skeptical. 

“Allegedly.”

It occurs to her to wonder if the whole thing is a ruse to rekindle their romance. The whole thing sounds far-fetched, like bait in the trap to catch a singing cowgirl….

“When and where did they see it?”

“They have a house in the hills. Mrs. Hitchcock was out on the terrace--”

“Wait--Hitchcock like Alfred Hitchcock?” She's never worked with 'Hitch', but she admires his pictures tremendously.

Jupe nods. “He thinks it’s some kind of movie stunt, that somebody painted a horse with luminous paint or something like that.”

“I don’t think that would work. I mean, you could paint a horse, but chemicals like that could really hurt it.” She bites her lip. Animal lover that she is, the idea bothers her. “Even in the _Wizard of Oz_ , when they did the horse of a different color, they used food coloring, not paint.”

“See, I wouldn’t have thought of that,” he points out, taking out his keys. “I thought maybe we could drive up there and take a look around and see if there are any hoof prints and maybe follow them back to wherever the phantom horse came from.”

Luis has loaded up Trixie’s costar for the drive back to the ranch. She lets him know she won’t be driving home with him--and makes sure he knows who she’s with. “Tell Jeremy I may end up calling him for a ride if things get awkward,” she concludes. “But if someone’s mistreating a horse, I have to do something.”

“Of course.” Luis eyes Jupiter. He’s been working on the ranch for almost as long as she can remember, and he’s protective of Trixie. Sometimes that’s been a nuisance, but at the moment, she finds it reassuring. “Call any time.”

“So when did she see this horse?” Trixie asks, strolling over to Jupe's battered truck. Worst case scenario, she’ll have to call Patsy or Jeremy for a ride home--but if there’s some idiot who’s painting his horse with glow-in-the-dark paint, she wants to find them and sic the humane society on them.

“According to her, the first time was last week--Saturday evening, right around sundown. The horse was easy to see, because everything around it was dark. She got some binoculars and says she got enough of a look at it to see it didn’t have on a saddle or bridle.

“Then, last night she saw it again. She went to get her binoculars, but by the time she got back, it was gone. She’s not positive, but she thinks last night someone was riding it.”

Riding a horse in these hills after dark is a damn fool thing to do; Trixie adds it to the list of grievances she wants to take up with the phantom’s owner when they track them down. “Let’s get something straight--I’m doing this because I’m worried about that poor horse-- _not_ because you batted your eyes at me. Is that clear?”

“Sure,” Jupe says meekly. “Hey, speaking of horses, how’s Romeo doing? Why weren’t you riding him today?”

Trixie shrugs. “Because they were shooting in color and the Citrus Council thought a palomino would look better. The guy they had me on today was a sweetheart--he’s a full brother to Golden Cloud and he’s been in the Rose Bowl Parade a couple times.”

“Golden Cloud?” Jupiter repeats. 

“A famous palomino…Olivia deHaviland rode him in _Robin Hood_. Then a few years later, he was sold and renamed--you’d probably recognize him as Trigger.”

“Trigger’s brother?” He whistles. “Royalty.”

The famous sign that looks down on the movie capitol of the world is monumental up close. Each letter towers over them, and you couldn’t throw a stone from the H to the D. Until now, Trixie never gave any thought to the scale of a sign that can be seen for literally miles. Now, she stares up at the nearest letters in awe. “I had no idea it was so big.”

“Each letter is forty-five feet tall,” Jupe informs her. “The whole thing is 350 feet long. It was put up in 1923 to advertise a real estate development called Hollywoodland.”

“I remember that. The Chamber of Commerce restored the sign a few years ago and took down L-A-N-D.” Trixie is pleased to be able to contribute that tidbit; Jupiter has a bad habit of being a know-it-all sometimes, a quality she finds less than endearing. “Where did Mrs. Hitchcock say she saw the horse?”

“To the left of the ‘H’, so that way--west.”

“Could she tell how close to the sign it was?”

“Relatively close. I asked her, and she said she thought the horse was closer to the ‘H’ than the ‘H’ was to the ‘D’.”

Trixie rolls her eyes. “That’s not much help. Depending on the angle she was at, that could be anywhere between a hundred yards and half a mile. And it’s a big hillside.”

“Hopefully, they were on the trail.” Jupe strides in the direction of a well-worn path. “And if we’re lucky, there haven’t been a bunch of hikers through here since last night stomping all over any hoof prints.”

Trixie slogs along behind him, wishing she had another Coke. It’s a warm day--not super hot, but she wishes she had a hat to cut the glare--and she wouldn’t have worn sneakers if she’d known she was going for a long walk like this. She’s not going to back down, though. She slips a peppermint out of her pocket--glad of the habit of keeping a few on hand for tidbits for Romeo.

Jupiter halts abruptly. “What does that look like to you?”

She studies the churned up earth. “That’s from a horse, all right,” she agrees. “It looks like he was either spooked or maybe fighting his rider.”

“And then it goes back in the other direction,” he says excitedly, circumventing the patch of disturbed trail. “Two sets, like coming and going.”

“Look--”Trixie indicates the marks heading toward the turnaround point. “He came up here a lot faster than he went back. I think he was a runaway, and whoever was riding him finally got him under control, then rode him back…I think he was winded, because here he’s moving at a walk.”

“That’s why I wanted your help--I knew you know more than I do!”

She’d like to believe he means it, but it seems like such a simple thing. She’s been around horses her whole life, of course she can recognize the difference in a horse’s gait by its tracks. It’s more flattery, that’s what it is.

They’ve been following the trail for what feels like half a mile, when the sunlight catches something and Trixie stops. There’s a twig broken on one of the shrubs lining the hillside, and protruding from it like bristles on a toothbrush are a cluster of fine white hairs. “There _was_ a white horse up here!” she exclaims. “There’s your proof!”

Why is she not surprised that he has a magnifying glass in his pocket? He studies her find. “I can’t tell for sure without a microscope, but it doesn’t look like it’s been dyed or bleached.”

“So, Mrs. Hitchcock was right.”

Jupe plucks the hairs from the bush and folds them carefully into a scrap of paper. “Well, there was a horse, and apparently it was white, but that doesn’t preclude Mr. Hitchcock’s theory that it was related to some film project. We need to find out where it came from.”

That entails more walking. Quite a bit of walking, because the mystery horse ran for a while. Trixie deciphers the tracks. “Here’s where he took off…see where he was prancing? He was fighting his rider, then he got the bit in his teeth. Yeah…that’s a big horse, you can tell from his stride…I’ll bet he was pulling like a locomotive.”

At last, there’s a fork in the trail that leads downhill. There’s a roof visible in the distance, terracotta Spanish tile, with an octagonal tower above one wing. "There's no sign of anyone but the horse and rider," Trixie points out. "A film crew would have cameras and reflectors set up--the ground would look like a buffalo stampede. It looks like Mrs. Hitchcock was right."

“That’s distinctive,” Jupe says, studying the tower crowning the villa. “Let’s go back to the truck and see if we can find the house from the road. I'd feel better if we actually saw the horse. We can get something to drink along the way. I don’t know about you, but I’m parched.”

Finding the house involves driving through various hillside enclaves west of the big sign. Fortified by bottles of pop, the two scan the homes they pass in search of the tower. A lot of houses have similar tiled roofs, but none boasts an eight-sided structure atop it.

“We should be getting close,” Jupe mutters. “I don’t think we walked much more than two miles.”

“This looks promising.” Trixie points to a high stuccoed wall running along the road beside them. “Perfect for keeping horses out of trouble. If they can’t see over it or through it, they’re a lot less likely to try to jump over it.”

The property has an elaborate entrance with ornate wrought-iron gates, which are closed. A painted tile plaque to one side of it reads “Unbriomonte”.

A landscaped drive leads to an impressive house in the distance. 

“That’s it!” Trixie exclaims. “There’s the tower! You can just see it behind those palms.”

“No way to get in, though. I suppose we’ll have to try the intercom.”

“Allow me,” Trixie grins, walking over to the speaker set into one side of the gates. She presses the button.

“May I help you?” a woman’s voice asks crisply.

“Oh, please,” Trixie burbles. “My puppy got away from us and we think he got into your property. Have you seen him?”

Jupe stares at her dissembling, but Trixie knows how to be appealing. She winks at him.

“A puppy?” The woman repeats.

“A five-month old beagle,” Trixie tells her, voice tinged with anxiety. “He’s our stable dog, and I think he must have smelled your horses and gotten confused.”

There’s a moment of silence, then the voice says, “Follow the wall west. When it ends, turn right into the gravel driveway and keep going until you get to the side gate. I’ll call ahead.”

“That was genius!” Jupe congratulates her once they’re back in the truck. “This way, at least we know they have horses. And where did you come up with that sob story?”

“If they’re horse people, they’re probably animal lovers, and if they’re animal lovers, a lost dog is going to stir their sympathies. A lost puppy? Please.” She chuckles, pleased with her stratagem and elaborates. “His name is Buddy, he comes with me to the stables every time I go riding but I’m still trying to train him. He ran off while we were looking around the sign and I’m _so_ worried!”

“Inspired,” Jupe allows, turning carefully onto the gravel. It crunches beneath the truck’s wheels, but it’s well-maintained and he expertly pilots it up the slope of the hill. "You should be an actress."

According to the odometer, the gate is almost three-tenths of a mile from the road. 

“This place is huge,” Jupe says with awe. “I didn’t think they had any big estates like this around here any more.”

“I wonder how many horse they have.” Trixie climbs out of the truck. She’s consumed with curiosity about the estate--she knows enough Spanish to translate ‘Umbriomonte’ to ‘shady hill’--even the name sounds mysterious!

This gate is less ostentatious than the one out front--it’s made of heavy wood planks and held together with wrought-iron hardware. It’s wide enough to admit their truck, but the man standing on the far side of it shakes his head. “You can park there. I’ll let you in.”

Trixie appraises him as he opens the gate for them. His hair is red and slicked back. He's not quite as tall as Jupe, but much leaner. Boots, jeans, chambray shirt--the same kind of clothes Jeremy wears around the ranch, work clothes; he's not playing cowboy. He’s younger than her manager, though--in his early to mid-thirties, at a guess. 

“You’re looking for your dog, Miss Trask said?” he asks her.

“He’s just a puppy.” Trixie resumes her embroidery of imagination. “He ran off while we were up at the Hollywood sign--we followed him through the woods and saw that tower on the house--”

“We went back and drove over here,” Jupe picks up the narrative. “We thought he might be wandering along the road, but we didn’t see him.”

“And he always comes to the stable with me when I ride,” Trixie contributes, “So I thought maybe he smelled horses and got confused.”

The groom is studying them. “Up at the Hollywood sign, huh? Where’s your camera?”

Trixie freezes, but Jupe just chuckles. “We’re not _tourists_ ,” he says disparagingly. “I’m from Rocky Beach and she’s from Rosedale.” Which happens to be true. Trixie smiles. “We were up there…well, there’s a story that Robert Mitchum got drunk one night and went up there and wrote...” He clears his throat. “something naughty.”

The redhead laughs. “Did he?”

“If he did, we didn’t find it. And now we’re stuck looking for her fool dog.”

“Buddy!” Trixie calls, following it up with a whistle. Not surprisingly, there’s no response. “He might be curled up in a stall somewhere. Can we look around your barn?”

The man thinks it over for a moment, then finally shrugs and says, “I don’t suppose it would hurt. Come on.”

The stable building is every bit as impressive as the rest of Umbriomonte. The same care to detail makes Trixie think of a film she shot in Capistrano--the Spanish colonial architecture looks like Zorro is going to come galloping past at any moment. 

They’ve barely entered when a phone rings nearby, and their guide sighs. “Back in a minute.”

He goes through a door into what looks like a small office--Trixie sees a desk and some shelves filled with what she recognizes as copies of the Stud Book. He picks up the receiver in mid-ring and says, “Reagan here.”

“Now’s our chance,” Jupe says quietly. “Check every stall.”

There’s a gorgeous palomino standing outside of one of the stalls while it’s being mucked out--a wheelbarrow full of dirty straw is parked nearby. This certainly is her day for golden horses!

She’s gotten them in here; Jupe is perfectly capable of telling whether a horse is white or not without her help.

“Hello, darling,” she says, letting the pretty mare sniff her hand before she pats its velvety nose. “Aren’t you a beauty!” Could Mrs. Hitchcock have mistaken a palomino for a white horse from a distance? No, because the hairs they found were white, and they hadn’t been mane or tail hairs.

“Oh!” A young woman about her own age is standing in the opening to the stall. “Where did you come from?”

Although she’s made more than a dozen movies, Trixie is convinced that it’s more due to her horsemanship than her looks or talent. This girl, on the other hand, is definitely pretty enough to be a movie star: not only is she lovely, she’s much taller than Trixie with legs for days--a regular Rita Hayworth.

“We’re looking for a lost dog,” Trixie announces, feeling like she’s just turned into a pumpkin. “Have you seen a beagle puppy around here anywhere?”

Wide hazel eyes blink at her, “You’re Trixie Belden!” she gasps. “I’ve seen all your pictures!”

“Uh, thanks.” Trixie hopes Jupe hurries with his reconnaissance. She tends to think of her fans as being pre-teens; it’s weird to have someone her own age being star-struck. “That’s a really pretty palomino. Is she yours?”

Her new friend beams. “This is Dolly,” she says, stroking the mane’s graceful neck. Her full name is Dollop of Cream, but Dolly suits her. She’s such an angel . And I’m Honey--Honey Wheeler.” 

“She’s lovely.” Trixie fishes out another mint. “May I?”

“Of course! Does Romeo like mints? Oh gosh, he’s such a wonderful horse--and so well trained!” Dolly’s owner gushes. “Like in that one…I think it was _Blazing the Trail_ , when you were in the standoff with the bad guy, and you backed up up--most of the horses I know hate to back up more than a few feet, but he was as smooth as silk.”

 _After three hours and five takes, or was it six?_ Trixie recalls wryly. “He’s got nice manners,” she agrees. He ought to--she and Jeremy spent enough time training him!

“Want to see something special?” Honey glances back toward the office, where the red-haired man can faintly be heard talking to his caller.

She leads Trixie to a box stall at the very end of the barn. Its upper and lower doors are closed, but Honey unbolts the upper door and swings it open.

Trixie gasps. “Jupe, come take a look at this!”

Even in the dim light of the stable, the horse within seems radiant. _He really does look like a pearl_ , Trixie marvels. Not from a happy clam, though--he rolls his eyes at them, prancing and pawing the straw as if he’d like to charge the door.

“This is En Garde. He’s an Akhal Teke--they’re a very rare breed. My dad just got him last week. He wants to use him for breeding.”

“Has he been out of his stall at all since then?” Jupe asks keenly.

Honey looks startled by the abrupt question and wary for the first time. Trixie says, “He looks like he could use some exercise.”

“He did get out the day he arrived,” she admits. “Reagan and Tom spent two hours chasing him all over the hills. But they got him. He’s okay.”

“What about last night when you were riding him?” Trixie demands, because she has a pretty good idea of the truth.

With a frightened glance toward the office door at the far end of the building, Honey pleads. “You can’t tell anyone! I’d be in so much trouble!” She stops. “How did you know?”

“We saw the tracks on the trail,” Trixie tells her bluntly. “He ran away with you, didn’t he? You couldn’t hold him.”

“He got the bit in his teeth,” Honey admits, closing the stall door again. “I’ve been riding for years, but I’ve never been on a horse that fast before. I was scared to death I’d fall off, or we’d go over a cliff or something.”

Reagan emerges from the office. “Please don’t tell!” Honey begs, her voice low and fearful. “Please!”

“I’d stick to Dolly,” Trixie advises in a similar tone, then at a more conversational volume, says, “He’s gorgeous, Honey. Thanks for showing him to me.”

“Miss Honey, you’re not supposed to agitate En Garde,” the groom warns her. “He’s a terror.” He turns to Jupe and Trixie. “He bites and kicks. Great pedigree, lousy manners.”

“You’re right, Reagan,” Honey says sincerely. “I’d rather ride Dolly any day.” She smiles conspiratorially at Trixie, then says, “Do you know who this is? She’s Trixie Belden!”

“Huh.” The redheaded groom nods. “I thought you looked familiar, but I figured I’d seen you riding in some show or other. Pleased to meet you, Trixie. I’m Bill Reagan.”

“And this is my friend, Jupiter Jones--”

“Oh gosh, your co-star from _Desert Melody_!” Honey’s smile broadens. “I just saw that a couple weeks ago, it was wonderful! You two make such a cute couple.”

 _Which just goes to know that Hollywood is all smoke and mirrors,_ Trixie muses. But she doesn’t feel any need to enlighten the other girl. Instead, she signs autographs for them and she and Jupe make it back to the truck with sighs of relief.

“Sooner or later, they’re going to realize we forgot about your hypothetical hound,” Jupe says as they turn back onto the main road.

“Poor puppy,” she mutters. “Where are you going?”

She expected him to head for the freeway, but clearly, he isn’t.

“We’re going to go see the Hitchcocks and let them know we found a real, live horse, and yes, he was big and white and no it wasn’t a publicity stunt.”

Trixie doesn’t protest, although at this point, she’s tired and hungry. The temptation to meet one of her idols is too strong--although she thinks better of it right about the time Jupe rings their doorbell. She’s a mess--not a good first impression, she laments. For the second time that day, inadequacy overwhelms her. 

Jupiter doesn’t seem perturbed by the prospect of showing up looking worse for wear, but then, Trixie reminds herself, he already knows the Hitchcocks. Maybe he had his reasons, though--they’re promptly invited to dine with the couple. Afterward, over dessert, they’re given a chance to present their findings.

Jupiter gives Alfred Hitchcock the paper with the white hairs, and together, he and Trixie recount their hunt and final triumph. “I couldn’t have done it without Trixie,” Jupe concludes without false modesty. “She read the tracks we found, she’s the one who found those hairs, and she came up with that ruse about the dog. She was pretty slick about getting the Wheeler girl to admit that she was riding the horse last night, too.”

“It was worth it just to see that horse,” Trixie says fervently. “Not that Romeo isn’t super, but En Garde certainly is a beauty.”

“After more than twenty-five years of marriage,” Hitchcock drawls, “there’s one thing I’ have learned: having someone with whom you work well and who makes up for your deficiencies is essential.” He bestows a fond smile on Alma, then fixes Jupe with an intent gaze. “If you’re smart, you’ll marry her.”

Trixie realizes her mouth is having open and tries to school her expression into polite amusement. Their day has smoothed away some of the sharp edges of her irritation with Jupe, but marriage?! 

Later, as he’s holding the door of the truck for her, Jupe pauses. “Look, I know it’s probably none of my business, but how serious are things with you and Jim Frayne?”

She stares at him. “Jim Frayne? What about him?”

“Are you happy with him?”

“I've hardly seen him in months,” she says honestly. “I’m pretty sure he has his sights set higher than a mere singing cowgirl.”

“I didn’t want to trip you up, if you guys were serious, but if you’re not….” He hesitates. “I’ve missed you, Trixie. I had a good time today, and I meant every word I said. You were brilliant.”

“That’s why you disappeared? You were…deferring to Jim?” 

“I thought that was what you wanted.”

“I enjoyed spending time with him,” she defends herself. “He’s good company, and it never hurts to be on good terms with the heir apparent of a major studio, That’s just good sense. It certainly doesn’t mean I’m getting ready to pick out china patterns!”

“I’m an idiot.” Jupe’s handsome face wears an abashed frown. 

“I guess Mr. Hitchcock was right,” she giggles. “If I’m brilliant and you’re an idiot, then you _do_ need me to balance out your shortcomings.”

He bends forward and kisses her. They’ve always been good at that, and it’s a pleasure to enjoy it again. 

“Where are we going now?” Trixie asks, her voice husky as he starts the truck.

“Wherever you want,” he promises, “as long as it isn’t the Hollywood sign.”

…


End file.
